Free View from Saturday (9781439132012) by E. L. Konigsburg Page A

day-old bruise. He had more hair than you would think a single skull could hold. His hair—blue-black, thick and straight—did not have the hard sheen of the hair of a Chinese or Japanese but had the soft look of fabric.
    â€œJulian Singh,” he said, extending his hand. No one (a) introduces himself and then (b) extends his hand to be shaken while (c) wearing shorts and (d) knee socks and (e) holding a genuine leather book bag on (f) the first day of school.
    I extended my hand. “Ethan Potter,” I said. I did not smile. How could I? For a single moment of neglect, I would be stuck with having this kid as a bus partner for the rest of the school year.
    I didn’t want to set up any expectations. I wanted to ignore Julian Singh for the rest of the ride, and I managed to say nothing until the bus had turned left off Gramercy and was back on Highway 32, but then curiosity got the best of me. “Did you buy the Sillington house?” I asked.
    â€œYes,” Julian replied. “The purchase was completed several weeks ago. There were quite a few delays in arranging the permits.”
    â€œPermits?” I asked.
    â€œYes. Permits. Father is converting Sillington House into a B and B.”
    â€œA
B and
B?”
    â€œYes. A bed and breakfast inn. Rather like a small hotel. Except we will not be responsible for dinners, and thus we will support only a limited menu. Actually, the kitchen in Sillington House is quite remarkable. It is as large as many full-service restaurant kitchens. We must make Sillington House handicap accessible before we are ready for occupancy. Mrs. Gershom was most helpful in getting permits for the conversion.”
    â€œI’ll bet she was,” I said. “Is your father a cook?”
    â€œYes.” Julian smiled. “A chef. He was chef on board the
Skylark,
the cruise ship. Father decided that we needed to settle down. He has always wanted to own an inn, so he purchased Sillington House. That is what we will call it.”
    â€œThat is what it has always been called.”
    â€œYes. So Mrs. Gershom informed us. Father believes that with the college nearby, many visiting parents will welcome such a place.”
    â€œIndeed,” I said. I don’t think I ever said that word before. What is there about an English accent that makes people seem more intelligent than they maybe are? And was it catchy?
    I turned to the window and rested my forehead against the pane. How did he come by his English accent? Where did he go to school before? Was he really unaware of being weird? How did he get to be so weird? But enough was enough. If I didn’t pocket my curiosity, I would be giving away more than a bus seat.
    When the bus stopped, in a feeble attempt to postponethe inevitable, I pretended to be looking for something. Mrs. Korshak waited, watching in her rearview mirror. At last after everyone else had left, I walked the length of the aisle and stood for a second at the top of the steps.
    There was Julian Singh waiting for me.
    I knew he would be.
    Julian said, “I am assigned to Mrs. Olinski, Room Twelve. Are you nearby?”
    â€œI guess so,” I replied, holding up my room assignment notice.
    â€œWhat a stroke of luck,” Julian said.
    â€œIndeed,” I replied.
    Mrs. Olinski was the first teacher Epiphany ever had who taught from a wheelchair.
    She sat, waiting, until we were all seated. Then she introduced herself. “I am Mrs. Olinski. I am one of those people who gets to use all those good parking spaces at the mall.” She turned toward the blackboard and wrote in big, block letters:
    MRS. OLINSKI
PARAPLEGIC
    As she wrote
paraplegic
, Mrs. Olinski spelled it out, “ P-A-R-A-P-L-E-G-I-C . It means that I am paralyzed from the waist down.” Her voice was steady, but I noticed that her hands were not. The
O
of Olinski was not round or smooth but nervous. I don’t know what made me look at Julian Singh at